


Costly Signals

by obaewankenope (rexthranduil)



Series: Signalling Theory: Blue Coat [6]
Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: AND HAVE FEELS, BAMF!Newt, Badass Newt Scamander, Code: Blue Coat, F/M, I'm so horrible to these characters, M/M, Newt is a cinnamon bun who doesn't deserve me giving him PTSD and suffering, Queenie and Newt bond, badass newt, honestly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-15
Updated: 2017-02-15
Packaged: 2018-09-24 18:39:08
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,840
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9780062
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rexthranduil/pseuds/obaewankenope
Summary: “Newt honey, are you alright?” Queenie asked, her hands still on either side of Newt’s head, fingers tangled in the hair behind his ears, warm and alive on his skin.“How do you know if you love someone?” Newt asked suddenly, voice cracked from the harshness of his panic attack — he could admit to himself what it was, there was no shame in them, there wasn’t — as he stared at Queenie, his usual air of discomfort entirely absent. He was focused on her; her behaviour, reaction, words, voice — everything.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Nearly 7k this time. I'm becoming consistent heh.

When Newt's case had been searched by MACUSA — leaving habitats damaged, his creatures spooked, terrified, angry, and the shed full of his work looking as though Frank had let loose a thunderstorm in it — they had been very, very thorough; even going so far as to riffle through Newt's sock drawer. But there had been one place they had never managed to find; somewhere secret.

The obscurus from Sudan, from the girl Newt had failed, had been in the Antarctic habitat due to it being the furthest from any of the others — both magically and physically — so it had been little surprise the MACUSA Auror's had stumbled across it. He hadn't exactly bothered to hide it; no sane person would go near the thing, let alone want to want to know how to harness it.

But the one place Newt had made sure was impossible to find, throughout all of his testing and retesting of the case and its numerous enchantments, was _this_ room.

This room of remembrance.

Small and understated, it branched off through a small nook in the corner of the shed, obscure and difficult enough for most people to reach to be easily overlooked. Only someone who knew it was there, and knew the correct charm — one that happened to be of Newt's own creation — could hope to find and open it.

Inside the room, there were tokens for all the creatures and people Newt had failed over the years. A button from his old school cloak for the student who had almost died in his sixth year. A sleeve cuff from the uniform of the Muggle soldier Newt hadn't been able to protect from the Ironbelly he'd been trying to keep away from the fighting. A single feather from Cairo, the Sphinx…

There were plenty of reminders of his failings, mementos kept, not to cripple him with grief and self-loathing as his brother would think, but to remind him of how hard he had to fight, of how much he had to keep doing. The world was a cruel, violent place full of bitterness and hate. This, Newt knew with starting clarity. But that was not all there was to the world.

And for every memento for each of his failings, Newt had one for each success.

The letter written in shaky hand from the mute old lady on the coastal plains of the Indus river; expressing her thanks for Newt saving her only grandchild from a Skōlex, or Indus Worm, that inhabited the river.

A large vial of Felix Felicis from a Greek wizard who found himself on the pointy end of a Chimera's stinger and was saved by Newt's fortunate intervention.

A photograph of a family of the squib Newt had found, trapped in an Irish cave, lured by a Leprechaun for reasons Newt had never quite discovered.

They littered the room, hanging from the walls between shelves stacked with books that were first editions or copies of family diaries and journals, strewn across the tops of the desks and cabinets that he'd pushed against the walls of the room.

This was Newt's secret — one of many — and he knew that, if he wished it, he could hide inside it for days, weeks, and no one would be able to find him; no matter how hard they looked for him. Only Newt could enter this room. No one else.

Not even Thee.

It was here where he retreated to after Sudan, tending to his injuries — both those from the Obscurus and from the villagers who had attacked him after —and trying desperately not to fall into the darkness of his own memories. The darkness the Cairo had dragged out from its deepest crevasse in his heart and let it be poked and prodded by pain, grief and loss.

Newt had once researched his family history, fascinated beyond explanation with the strength of the magic of his family. His father's family were noted for great skill against the Dark Arts, many of them serving as Auror's or Hunters of Dark wizards. A mostly pureblood heritage from his father had given Newt plenty to wonder over, but his mother's family… that had been a shock.

When he'd been young, Newt had asked his mother once about a girl he remembered, a girl he called cousin, and had been firmly shut down by her. It was the only time she'd been brusque with him and it had stuck.

The girl he remembered calling cousin was never spoken of. Why, he didn't learn until his expulsion.

But Newt had still sought answers, knowledge and background of his mother's family. If she would not provide it herself… well then, Newt would find other sources.

Books were a great help. The goblins even more so. He had sent them his weekly allowance in payment for the help of a single goblin at Gringotts who, while not pleased with how little Newt had to offer him in payment, took it and offered him assistance far beyond what Newt could afford.

He still corresponded with Farlan at least twice a year and had recently sent the goblin his best wishes after Farlan's wife had given birth after a difficult pregnancy.

Farlan had found connections and affiliations of his mother's family that stretched back hundreds of years; back to before Hogwarts even. It was a startling realisation for Newt, to discover, at the age of fifteen — incidentally only several months before he would be excluded from school for an event he wasn't responsible for but had taken the blame for to protect a friend who later abandoned him — that Newton Scamander was a Peverell.

A Peverell of a squib bloodline that had vanished from all records before the renaissance.

Farlan provided him with more information, more names of families Newt could claim relation to if he wished, and one of those family's shocked Newt to the core.

Albus Dumbledore was his cousin!

And-

Ariana Dumbledore. The younger sister of the professor who had always had a fondness for Newt for reasons he could never determine, was the girl he remembered calling cousin once, long, long ago.

There was a section of the wall to the side of the door that Newt had kept purposefully blank for a long time in his creation of this room. It had taken him six years to convince Albus to agree to it, but Newt had installed a large portrait, a small table beneath it with a single, magically-enchanted candle flickering away beneath it.

Ariana Dumbledore looked down at Newt from where she hung, a soft smile on her delicate features.

Newt smiled at her. “Hello.”

Her smile grew but she didn't answer him, she never did.

Albus had told him, quietly one night, after Newt's approval letter to the Ministry of Magic had arrived and he'd rushed over to the Transfiguration Professor's home to tell him of the news, what had happened to Ariana.

All of it.

“She tried to stop us in the end,” Albus had admitted, a whispered confession in the soft light of his drawing room. “I don't know which of us cast it but…”

And then, the man who had fought for Newt in school, who had visited his family over the years and never been greeted with much kindness so much as polite hostility, the wizard who had shown Newt that it was what you did with power not how much of it you had, broke down before him and sobbed.

Cried tears for the sister he had failed. The brother he had driven away. The wizard who had won his heart and ruined it.

What else could Newt have done but shown him the same kindness that Albus had shown him? He had lost a cousin he had barely known and had two more who were near strangers to him when they should have been as close as Theseus was to him.

He couldn't have turned away. Not then.

Not ever.

Ariana watched as he moved around the room, slowly reacquainting himself with its contents, reaching out and lightly tracing the photo frames and other knick-knacks on the shelves as he passed them. It was his routine, a ritual of sorts and, as always, Ariana was his silent witness.

She was the last thing in the room Newt went to, the one he saved till last because she had never been his fault and was not her burden. But she was in this room because she was family and he had a duty to family no matter how distant they were.

A smaller photograph of his aunt, his mother's sister, stood on the shelf close to Ariana's portrait, watching her daughter with a solemn, sad smile. Newt's gaze lingered on the photo, taking in how different his aunt looked in the picture to the fuzzy memories he had of her.

Older, sadder, but still just as strong.

He smiled sadly, reaching out and gently lifting the photoframe off the shelf, holding it in both hands as he gazed down at the photograph of his aunt. She was a beautiful woman; dark hair, dark eyes, the tone of her skin deeper in the photograph and Newt wished fervently that the photograph was in colour. He could hardly remember his aunt's voice, the way she laughed at his antics whenever mother took him to visit.

He could clearly remember the Muggle sweets she used to slip into his coat pocket when his mother was concerned for his teeth; could recall the mischievous smile she'd give him when he put on his coat and felt them in the pocket.

Sighing heavily, Newt placed the photoframe back on the shelf, smiling at the way his aunt gazed out of it. It was the only picture he had of her, the only one any of them had of her save mother; but those were of a young girl, wrapped around her little sister in a smiling embrace and Newt would never ask for copies of those.

Ariana stared down at him with a gentle smile on her summer-lit features. Newt smiled back at her, raising a hand to wave at her as he moved towards the way out.

“I'll come visit you again,” Newt promised softly. Ariana raised a hand, waving back at him. “I promise.”

She nodded, forever mute in the painting, and turned away from him, disappearing into the space of the magical painting. Newt watched her go.

Newt wondered where she went, inside the painting; a mere ghost of the girl who had been his cousin. He wondered if the painting had her home, the home that had been destroyed, in the distance. Had the painter created it with knowledge of her, of Albus, or had they simply chosen a generic background? Perhaps they had painted a scene from their garden — it seemed like the sort of thing painter's did when creating magical paintings, but Newt knew very little about the profession; he knew more of the magics that went into the creation of the paintings, and the paints used since they often came from the very creatures Newt sought to protect, but on painting itself? No, Newt knew little to nothing of that.

Perhaps if he did he could explain why the colour of Ariana's dress in the painting always drew his attention. The shade of blue a near perfect imitation of the blue Newt favoured. Perhaps it was a colour he had grown fond of through her? Or perhaps Albus had suggested it to the painter?

Newt didn't know, but he wondered.

His cousin had been far more dangerous than she had appeared, much in the same way Newt was. Perhaps it was coincidence. Perhaps it was not.

Exiting the room through the secret doorway, Newt stared absently at the wall of his shed — littered with tacked-up sketches and scrawled notes on worn pieces of parchment — and couldn't help but question his nature and how he appeared to others.

Theseus often remarked on how good Newt was at misdirection with his behaviour, how easily he misled people into thinking he was quite harmless when he was quite the opposite. Always, Newt's rejoinder had been to laugh or comment on how his coat was warning enough, and he still believed that. Truly.

But Newt couldn't help but wonder if people saw him as a shy, awkward soul with no knowledge of the world and possessing all the naivety of a child. It would certainly explain the looks he received from Tina and even Queenie sometimes. It would also explain the expressions he'd seen cross Mister Graves' and Madame Picquery's faces whenever he spoke to them.

The President of MACUSA especially, Newt thought, was one who struck him as very observant and not at all accustomed to reading people wrongly. Somehow, he doubted Mister Graves was used to incorrect assessments either.

Still, Newt had spent much of his life actively altering his behaviour for a variety of reasons; some obvious, some not so obvious. His creatures responded best to his unaggressive behaviour — a singularly good reason for Newt to regulate how he reacted to things — and were often far more willing to allow him close if they sensed no inherent danger to him through his body language. That, in part, was one of the greatest reasons for Newt's gentle demeanour, but it was not the only reason he had.

Farlan's research had revealed much to Newt, some things he wished it had not, and it had given him much to think of. His brother, Newt knew, was very much interested in serving the magical community, protecting people, but Theseus had been one of the first to defy their Minister of Magic at the time of the Great War. Newt had, naturally, followed close behind but he had not had his brother's purely good motivations to lead him; Newt had been focused on being there to keep his brother alive and able to go home to mother and father at the end of it all. He had been singularly selfish in that respect.

Selfish in a way that had concerned him greatly.

What would Newt do for the people he loved? Would he harm others to protect them? Would he kill? Would he start a war out of a selfish need to ensure all that he loved was protected?

They were questions Newt feared the answers to.

Questions he had asked Albus once and had been asked in return.

His mother was a Prewett but also a Peverell — arguably one of the only magical individuals capable of claiming such a lineage — and Newt, by extension, was as well. The Prewett family were quite well-known for their strength of magic, most especially coupled with a skill for transfiguration, and the Peverell line had a rich history in magical Britain especially.

It was no wonder that Newt feared the answers to questions ,such as what he would do for his loved ones, when he had grown up hearing tales of the Peverell Brothers and the Deathly Hallows from his father. His family legacy was one of bargains with great powers, magical items of immeasurable power, and death from hubris.

The strength of his magic was a testament to the power of that history, and so too was his fear of it.

Theseus never had cause to fear his skill, prone towards defending against the Dark Arts and showing no talent for them — he took squarely after their father — but Newt… Newt had reason to fear.

Some of the spells he had sent at Grindelwald during his fight with him in the subway had been dark in ways that, Newt knew quite firmly, his brother would be horrified to discover. As would their mother.

He had never shared of the knowledge that Farlan had uncovered with the rest of his family, some part of Newt recognising the danger it would present were it to become common knowledge. Theseus certainly didn't need to constantly second-guess himself, questioning whether he was becoming mad with power or prestige, and so Newt never shared it with him after he'd discovered it.

Moving across his shed, Newt made his way towards the ladders, swiftly climbing them with the ease born of long-practice. Pushing the top of his case up, Newt crawled out of his case, waving a hand behind him to close the lid as he knelt on the floor of his room.

Theseus was in the kitchenette, fixing himself a cup of tea judging by the sounds, and Newt smiled slightly. His brother really was particularly fussy over his tea; Newt had survived in America this far on coffee and hadn't found it as disgusting as his brother did.

“How long does it take you to make a decent cup of tea here brother?” Newt asked, a teasing note in his voice, as he rose from the floor and made his way towards the kitchenette. He suppressed a laugh at the way his brother visibly jumped, tea cup in his hand clattering loudly, at the sound of his voice.

“Bloody hell Newt!” Theseus exclaimed, turning to glare at his brother who smiled innocently at him. “You're quieter than a damned mouse, I swear!”

Newt shrugged, raising an eyebrow casually at his brother. “Some Auror you are,” he said. “Caught unawares by your own brother. The shame.”

Theseus rolled his eyes, placing the tea cup on the counter beside him. “The shame is that I didn't hex you,” he muttered, reaching for the kettle pot to pour the hot water into the cup. “Might've wiped that smirk off your face.”

“Unlikely,” Newt shot back. “I'd have ducked your hex and you'd have broken a very nice tea cup in your panic.” He moved towards the cupboard, wondering if Queenie would be displeased with him if he stole a quick snack before their visit in an hour.

“The tea cup would have survived,” Theseus replied dryly. He added a dash of milk to his tea, no sugar, and stirred it several times until it was to his satisfaction. “My nerves might not; I forgot you hardly make a sound when you crawl out of that damned case of yours. Silencing charm yes?”

Newt shook his head, glancing at his brother. “No,” he said. “Muffling charm actually. It works similar but doesn't block out all sounds, only makes them quieter so it's harder for people to notice.”

Theseus nodded, watching Newt consider the crackers in the cupboard. “And since you're quieter than anyone has any right to be—” he shot Newt an unamused look that was completely lost on his brother, too busy still staring at the crackers “—it makes your comings and goings less noticeable.”

Newt nodded, reaching out to pluck the crackers from the cupboard. He freed a few of them from their packaging, placing the rest back inside the cupboard, and turned to face his brother. “Especially with the Notice Me Not spell on it.”

Newt nibbled on one of the crackers, holding out another for his brother to take. Theseus gave him a nod of thanks and calmly dunked the cracker into his cup of tea while Newt paused to stare at him.

“Really?” Newt couldn't help but remark. “Cracker in tea?”

“Crack- oh bugger!” Theseus cursed, glaring at the cracker in his hand. “I thought it was a biscuit!”

The look of disgust on his brother's face had Newt laughing regardless of the glare sent his way and, after a moment, Theseus began to laugh as well.

“I'm never living this down am I?” Theseus managed to ask at last, hiccuping a laugh as he placed his mostly-full cup in the sink, soggy cracker on the saucer with it.

“I'm going to make sure everyone in your department knows you mistook an American cracker for a biscuit!” Newt laughed, grinning widely at the put-upon groan his brother emitted. “ _Then_ I'm going to tell mother and father!”

Theseus cursed. “Just you wait,” he promised darkly. “The next time you do something stupid I'm going to get a picture of it and send it to mother, I swear to Merlin!”

Newt's grin grew wider, eyes bright with mirth at his brother. Theseus couldn't even pretend to be annoyed with his brother and let out a laugh at it all.

“If we're going to be visiting your lady friend and her sister,” Theseus said, sobering eventually. He fixed the neck of his coat and straightened the tie he wore even though it was perfectly straight. “We might want to head out soon, since apparating is apparently not an acceptable form of travel to their home.”

Newt nodded, wiping tears of laughter from his eyes, calming as his brother had. “It's a nice walk really,” he said, giving Theseus a more genuine smile. “Past the park and it's really no more than twenty minutes from here.”

Theseus nodded. “We have about an hour but I'd rather we get there early than late,” he said decisively, giving Newt a knowing look.

“I forgot the time for the meeting once,” Newt sighed, moving through the kitchenette towards his coat. “I haven't forgot it since.”

“Only because Tabitha charmed an alarm into the clock in the office you share so you wouldn't forget,” Theseus shot back, smirking as Newt rolled his eyes.

“Still haven't forgot it since,” he said, shrugging on his deep blue coat. Newt paused for a moment, staring at the sleeve of his coat, soaking in the colour of it. Ariana's dress really was the same colour.

Newt blinked and looked at Theseus. “Tabitha's intervention was very much appreciated,” he added and Theseus snorted.

“It certainly made inter-departmental meetings more entertaining,” Theseus agreed, opening the door to Newt's as he watched his brother. “Come on,” he said, “we can stop off at a shop or other and bring some wine or something with us to your lady friend's home.”

“I do wish you'd stop calling her that,” Newt sighed, following his brother out of the door. He fished out the key for the room, locking it quickly before slipping the key back into his pocket. “Tina is an accomplished Auror and Queenie won't take kindly to you thinking of her in such a manner.”

“You mean she has no idea you like her?” Theseus asked slyly, grinning at the way Newt nearly tripped in surprise at his brother's words.

Newt stopped, giving his brother a serious look that had Theseus pulling up short.

“Thee,” Newt said, a note of sharpness in his voice that mixed with its firm tone. “Tina is a friend, a dear friend yes, but that is all. She and Queenie are two of the only people I can consider friends in this country and I won't have you making jokes about this in front of them. It's rude, it's inconsiderate and, honestly,” Newt sighed, “it's annoying.”

Theseus blinked in surprise. Newt had never spoken to him so bluntly before but, then again, Theseus had never met any of Newt's friends.

He wasn't quite sure that Newt even _had_ friends. Colleagues, yes, his brother had plenty of those, but Theseus couldn't think of a single time Newt had ever spoken of friendship, or even a relationship, with anyone. Not after… well. Not after his brother's sixth year at Hogwarts and everything that happened back then.

These two Americans were important and, if it meant his brother wouldn't be tense and stressed for the evening, Theseus would keep his mouth shut about teasing; and his mind clear of such thoughts as well.

“Okay,” Theseus said, cutting his brother off before Newt could continue to speak. Newt's gaze sharpened on him, measuring his truthfulness.

“Okay,” he repeated, nodding in understanding. “I won't make anymore comments about it, I promise.”

Newt stared at him for a long moment, his face unusually blank and Theseus had no idea what his brother was thinking for a long moment before Newt gave him a slow, measured nod of agreement.

“Okay,” Newt said, eyeing his brother sharply. “But, just so you know, if you do say or think anything untoward about Tina and Queenie hears you; I am _not_ protecting you from her.”

Theseus smiled. “Fair enough.”

 

* * *

 

Hiding in the kitchen of Tina and Queenie's apartment, Newt drew in a deep breath and closed his eyes. Theseus was in the sitting room, laughing and chatting away to Tina and Queenie about this-and-that. Newt was glad his friends liked his brother and he'd have loved nothing more than to join in their happiness for the rest of the evening.

Instead he was in the kitchen, feeling strung out and exhausted, chest aching in a way that was so unfamiliar even if the melancholy settling on his shoulders wasn't. He didn't understand why he was feeling like this, it made no sense. Tina and Queenie always cheered him up and Theseus was especially good at dragging him out of his dark thoughts.

It didn't make any sense.

“Newt?”

Eyes snapping open, Newt's body tensed as he looked at Queenie standing on the threshold to the kitchen. He breathed out a surprised breath, forcing a smile onto his face as he looked at the younger Goldstein sister. “Queenie.”

Queenie stared at him, her silvery-blue eyes soft and filled with emotions Newt couldn't bring himself to process so he glanced away from her, his gaze flittering around the room. It was cowardly, he thought, that he couldn't look into the eyes of one of his friends because he was scared of what he'd see there.

“Oh Newt darling,” Queenie murmured softly, crossing the length of the kitchen and wrapping her arms around Newt, ignoring the way he tensed at the contact. “Darling, what's got you so sad?”

“Nothing Queenie,” Newt replied, shaking his head. His occlumency was high quality, something his father and Dumbledore had both worked with him on, but emotions were always difficult for him to hide from natural legilimens. “Just little things.”

Queenie leaned back, looking at Newt with a searching gaze and he fought the instinctive desire to look away from it. She was his friend, she cared about him, she didn't want to learn his secrets to use them against him. She _cared_.

“Honey,” Queenie started, voice soft and tender and so much like his mother when she was comforting him that Newt felt like crying suddenly. “I can see something is eating at you. I just don't want to see you hurting yourself when you don't need to be hurting.”

Newt's lips quirked upwards, eyes softening as he looked Queenie in the eye. Merlin but the world didn't deserve Queenie Goldstein.

“I don't think this is something anyone can help me with Queenie,” he said softly, ducking his head and pulling Queenie back against him. He seldom indulged in physical contact but, sometimes Newt just really wanted people to hug him and care about him.

Usually he was fine with no-one touching him, often he found it distracting and uncomfortable when they did, but sometimes he craved contact and longed for it from people. His mother and Thee were the only people who ever grabbed him and hugged him and whatnot without hesitation. Tina and Queenie were slowly learning that, while he might tense up at their touch, he craved it in the way a touch-starved child did.

A sad realisation indeed.

“It's not sad to want people to hug you,” Queenie murmured softly, pressing her head against Newt's chest, arms around him tightening fractionally. Newt tensed. “I'm sorry, contact makes some things louder sweetie, it's not intentional.”

Forcing a breath out, Newt nodded his head. “I know,” he said quietly, focusing on pushing back the negative thoughts and feelings from the forefront of his mind. Queenie didn't need to be hit with those just because she cared about him. “It's not a problem Queenie.”

“I don't like it when people I care about are sad and hurting,” Queenie said, lifting her head to stare at Newt as she slowly released her hold on him, pulling away from him.

Newt bit back the instinctive need to pull her back and cling to her for affection.

Newt gave her a gentle look, tinged with a sort of bittersweet grief that had Queenie's eyes filling with emotion. “Sometimes it can't be helped.”

“To hell with that,” Queenie said sharply, silver-blue eyes gleaming with unshed tears. “There ain't nothing in this world that can't be made a little easier to handle with friends.”

Newt smiled, fondness shooting through him for this amazing witch. She was right really; friends did make things easier to bear, helped loss and pain bite a little less sharply, but… Newt hadn't had friends in a long time.

He was quite used to deal with his problems on his own. Especially problems with emotions.

“I'm worried about a lot of things Queenie,” Newt said quietly, staring at her from beneath his fringe. “Grindelwald. The new trial. My creatures. My book. Mister Graves. You. Tina. I worry all the time, even if- even if I say it only causes you to suffer twice — and it does, it really does — but I worry anyway. I worry about my creatures. About the Niffler escaping and causing more chaos. About Frank and if he's happy in Arizona, if he's safe there. I worry about all the creatures I've nursed back to health and set free; did I do the right thing setting them free again? What if they're caught again? I could never forgive myself and I just don't know and I—”

The words wouldn't come out, stuck in his throat as he tried to breath. Merlin, no. Gods please not now, not again. Once was enough. Once was—

“Newt, Newt darling, breathe. Slowly. In and out. That's it.” Queenie's voice was heavy with fear and worry. Her hands were on either side of Newt's head, holding it steady as she stared into his wild eyes. She kept talking, steady and level, as Newt fought to just _breathe_. “That’s it, there you go. There you go.”

Slowly Newt’s breathing evened out, his heart pounding in his chest like a bass drum in a symphony orchestra like the one his mother had taken him to see when he was thirteen, head aching from the rapid beat and racing blood through his veins. He’d half-collapsed against Queenie, curling around her as he fought his panic and the fear that followed it. It’d been so long since he’d had—

“Newt darling, keep breathing and focus on me okay,” Queenie said suddenly, voice firm as she stared at him, her silver-blue eyes flitting over his face as he panted desperately. “Forget everything, just focus on me.”

Newt could do that. He could do that.

Queenie’s hair was messier than it had been when she’d answered the door a few hours ago, the lovely style she had for it falling into disarray from time and merriment and, now, worry. Her skin was as smooth and undamaged as ever, her cheeks rosy and matching her chosen lipstick of a shocking deep pink quite nicely. Her clothes were simply made but as colourful as ever and looked all the more stylish for it. She looked like the most innocent being in creation.

But she was like him, Newt knew. Queenie looked so innocent and unassuming, with her bright smiles and gentle voice, but she was as much a predator as he was. Her entire look was designed to draw attention and dissuade others from approaching her; see me and fear me, you will never own me.

How many people had Queenie met that approached her without fear or arrogance, who gazed at her with wonder because they saw everything she was? The kind, loving woman who would go to the ends of the earth for her sister and those she loved, and the vicious, ruthless one who would fight with everything she had and not regret it for a second if it kept her loved ones safe?

Jacob had been the only one to see that about her and had still wanted her regardless, knowing full-well that he had fallen for a woman who could do horrible things for the people she loved. It hadn’t scared or horrified him — nothing seemed to have fazed Jacob, not even all the creatures Newt had in his case, not even the knowledge that there existed a Dark wizard that wished to start a war. Jacob had been a far better, far rarer being than any witch or wizard in Newt’s opinion. He had been unconditional with his acceptance of quirks and the strangeness of magic in the world.

Newt wished that Jacob hadn’t been forced to lose his memories. It was an unfair ending to the story between Jacob and Queenie.

He couldn’t imagine how he’d have managed to deal with it had it been him in Queenie’s place and—

Newt’s eyes opened suddenly, though he didn’t recall closing them, and he stared wide-eyed at Queenie, his mouth open in a silent expression of surprise. Newt had never loved anyone, not in the way Queenie and Jacob had loved each other. Once… once he’d thought that he had loved Leta like that but betrayal had opened his eyes and he’d learned quickly what love _wasn’t_.

He wondered if this was what it was.

“Newt honey, are you alright?” Queenie asked, her hands still on either side of Newt’s head, fingers tangled in the hair behind his ears, warm and alive on his skin.

“How do you know if you love someone?” Newt asked suddenly, voice cracked from the harshness of his panic attack — he could admit to himself what it was, there was no shame in them, there _wasn’t_ — as he stared at Queenie, his usual air of discomfort entirely absent. He was focused on her; her behaviour, reaction, words, voice — everything.

She was the only person he could speak to who could give him some sort of answer, something he could work with and apply to his- to his _own_ feelings.

Queenie blinked. A slight furrow on her brow revealed her confusion at the sudden question, eyebrows drawing down as she processed Newt’s words. He took that in; the sudden burst of surprise followed by confusion, the way her eyes narrowed slightly in concern.

“Love is different for everyone I've found,” Queenie said, voice gentle and low — the murmur of conversation in the sitting room a testament to how little time had passed since she'd entered the kitchen, even though it felt like hours had gone by — as she moved across the kitchen to collect whatever she had come to collect in the first place. “For most people, it's trust and comfort with the person they love. A lot of the thoughts I overhear from No-Maj and wizards alike tell me that much darling. Sometimes there's desperation or awe, compassion and even pity mixed in. They colour how I feel their emotions—” Queenie glanced at Newt, her silver-blue eyes coloured with recollection “—and make it confusing for me. When I was little, I thought I loved one of our neighbours for months because his wife kept having all these heavy, obsessed thoughts and feelings about his safety and health after the war. I'm better now but sometimes someone I might pass on the street hits me a little harder than I expect and I—” she shrugged, smiling at Newt “—well, I get confused for a little while.”

"How do you know that the love you feel is yours then?" Newt frowned, following what Queenie was saying in an abstract way; it was unusual for him but it made sense in a way. His understanding of emotions was rooted in the physical, in behaviour, in tone and vocalisation. In biology and physiology. Queenie's wasn't. Not entirely.

Queenie's lips twisted into a sarcastic smile. "Well that's a problem for me sometimes," she admitted, picking up a dark bottle the size of a bottle of wine. Newt figured it was some sort of alcoholic beverage — whether it was muggle or magical in origin he had no idea but it didn't matter. "I don't think I really understood what it was to be in love myself until quite recently," she said softly, glancing down at the bottle in her hand.

Newt swallowed thickly, realising that he had inadvertently upset one of his only friends. "Queenie—" he started, moving away from the countertop he had half collapsed on before to stand beside Queenie "—I'm sorry," he apologised. "I didn't think—"

"It's alright Newt," Queenie cut him off, looking up at him with a fond look on her face that couldn't disguise the sadness in her eyes. "You don't mean no offense by it. You're just looking for answers, I understand that darling."

Newt snorted out an unamused breath. "I could at least do that without- without _upsetting_ you," he pointed out, shaking his head as he broke eye contact.

"Sometimes talking about things can upset us," Queenie said quietly and Newt's eyes jumped back to her face, taking in the deep wisdom in her silver-blue eyes. "But it's better to talk about those things than to ignore them and hurt ourselves more in the end because we were scared of a little pain."

"Jacob lit the world up around me. He was so kind and gentle and open to everything and every time he looked at me I felt like I was being worshipped for everything." Queenie's voice was soft, sadness in every vowel but the smile that blossomed on her face was warm and full of… full of _love_ . "He didn't look at just my pretty face, he saw me. I'm used to be looked at for my face, for how beautiful I am, but Jacob- Jacob was a wish I never thought I'd ever have come true. He wasn't scared of me, didn't shy away from me reading his mind and he looked at our world with such _wonder_ . I… I fell in love with him because of who he was and because he saw me and wanted me; _all_ of me, not just the pretty parts."

"Queenie I—" Newt began, reaching out to pull Queenie into a hug, the tears in her eyes moving him to act, when his brother's voice echoed through the apartment: "Oi! Newt! Have you and Tina's sister ran off with the firewhiskey or something?"

Queenie smiled at Newt, bringing a hand up to brush away the tears threatening to fall. With a few deep breaths, she was calm and collected once more, smiling and carefree as though she hadn't been close to tears. Newt wished he could take back his questions, take back the hurt he'd caused out of his own need to understand. Queenie's eyes softened as she looked at him, her lip quirking up further as she picked up the glasses from the countertop, and Newt knew that she'd heard that thought.

"It's alright Newt," she said softly, dipping her head slightly in a nod. "I'm fine."

Newt grimaced. "As fine as I am then," he replied, voice quiet and soft but filled with a bitterness born of experience and the habit of a lifetime; always fine, never anything wrong, just fine.

Queenie sighed. "Then let's be fine together, with people we care about hmm?"

Newt nodded, plucking two of the glasses out of Queenie's hands, making it easier for her to carry two glasses and the bottle of firewhiskey. "I hate firewhiskey you know," he commented casually, purposefully looking away from Queenie and moving towards the door to the kitchen. The soft click of Queenie's heels echoed behind him. "It's not something I enjoy but Thee loves it."

"Tina too," Queenie said. "Siblings."

Newt huffed out an amused breath, glancing over his shoulder at her, fringe covering his eyes somewhat as he smiled. "Siblings," he agreed, pushing the door to the kitchen open. He stepped through into the sitting area, his face smooth and entirely free of the emotions still roiling around inside him.

Newt imagined Queenie was much the same; a swirling mass of thoughts and feelings all vying for attention, pushed back down beneath an iron veneer of control and innocence.

Theseus and Tina had no idea of what their younger siblings had been doing in the kitchen, no idea of what they'd shared between them. Newt didn't know if that was a good or bad thing, only that it was and he had no desire to share it with his brother, and he doubted Queenie would want to share with Tina either.

They were both very private people in their own ways.

Newt took a deep breath, expelling it silently as he sat down in the chair he'd claimed earlier in the evening, and accepted the firewhiskey from Queenie. He focused on the moment, on being with two of his dearest friends and his brother.

There would be time to think on darker and more uncertain things later.

**Author's Note:**

> Okay so, just to break it down:  
> 1) Newt is Albus' cousin. Ariana is the sister who died. This means Newt knows of Grindelwald better than most. Theseus too. Neither of them really talk about it though. Newt saw his cousin more than Theseus did (school and age difference etc).  
> 2) Newt's mother is Albus' aunt. She and her sister (Dumbledore's mother) were the children of a squib from the Peverell and Prewett lines.
> 
> Comments and kudos are forever appreciated :)


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